People's panel pitches in to advise Melbourne City Council where it should spend $5 billion

It was a bold experiment in democracy: asking 43 citizens to help shape the Melbourne City Council’s $5 billion, 10-year financial plan. How did it go? Michael Green reports.

By Michael Green

December 2, 2014 — 12.43pm

When Shuwen Ling received the letter from the City of Melbourne, she thought it was spam. Or maybe it was a fine? "It was on good quality paper," she says. "But when I read it carefully, I thought: 'This is pretty cool'."

Ling is nearly 20 years-old and it's three years since she left her hometown, a few hours from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. She studies finance and civil engineering at the University of Melbourne and lives in an apartment near the Vic Market.

She was one of 6500 people who received the letter, 600 who responded, and finally, 43 who were randomly selected to reflect the city's demographics. Their task? To make recommendations on the council's budget for its first ever 10-year financial plan – spending that is worth, in total, up to $5 billion.

Citizens' juries, such as this one, are being used increasingly often around the world. They're another kind of representative democracy, one that steers policy making away from the entrenched positions of political parties, lobbyists and squeaky wheels, and towards the considered voices of ordinary, well-informed citizens.

In Melbourne, the "People's Panel" was coordinated by the newDemocracy Foundation, a not-for-profit research organisation that says it's aiming to move our democracy out of "the continuous campaign cycle".

The panellists were posed this question: "How can we remain one of the most liveable cities in the world while addressing our future financial challenges?"

The Age spoke with five of them, including Ling, from the panel's inception to its aftermath. The process began in August. In the following weeks, panellists spent six Saturdays hearing evidence from councillors, staff and experts of their own choosing. They read reports, did sums, asked questions, and wrangled over the answers. It was a bigger commitment than they'd expected, still most poured themselves into the challenge. But would the council act on their recommendations?

When Maria Petricevic enters the first session, she feels a little intimidated. Dr Petricevic is a Collins Street dentist – her practice overlooks the town hall. "I was scanning the room and thinking: 'Are other people better informed than I am?'"

She is enthusiastic about Melbourne – throughout university, for seven years commuting on the V/Line train from Geelong, she dreamed of one day moving north. "I just love this city," she says.

By the second session, she feels more confident about her ability to contribute, but slightly overwhelmed by all the information. "It's been an eye-opening experience," Petricevic says in the lunch break. "I just have so much more insight into how much goes into operating a city".

It is a bright Saturday in September and the panellists are gathered in a grand room on the lower level of the Melbourne Town Hall. Through the windows, you can see the legs of pedestrians and the bodies of trams passing by on Swanston Street.

The City of Melbourne's chief finance officer, Phu Nguyen, gives the group a rundown on the budget, and its longer-term projections. "We've reached a level of what I call 'Peak Parking Revenue'," he says. "People are complying more than they used to."

“If I hear one more person say Melbourne is the world’s most liveable city, I’m going to scream.”

Bruce Shaw

Nguyen lays out the broad challenges for the city over the coming decade, all with implications for the bottom line: rapid population growth, climate change, technological transformation and economic uncertainty.

The renewal of the Queen Victoria Market site could cost up to $250 million, and serious upgrades to infrastructure and facilities will be required. On current estimates, he says, the council will fall short of cash.

The panellists split into small groups for a "speed dating" session with councillors and senior staff. With the weight of town hall above them, and established voices in their ears, it is hard to imagine the panel's advice straying too far from the status quo.

But one of the panellists, Hani Akaoui, an architect with a thin moustache, a considered manner and an office at the top end of Bourke Street, notes that his fellow citizens aren't shy about asking critical questions. "We want to be informed," he says.

"I can see the potential political power of the recommendations, so I was very keen to push them to focus on the big material issues," he says later. Some were swayed, others irked; all noted his forceful approach. (The panel recommended against selling Citywide.)

For the third session, the panellists are able to request any experts they want – among those chosen are demographer Bernard Salt and climate scientist Graeme Pearman.

In the break, panellist Bruce Shaw, a barrister who lives in Southbank, expresses his scepticism about the ubiquitous cheerleading for the city: "If I hear one more person say Melbourne is the world's most liveable city, I'm going to scream." (Later, he did – quietly.)

While they aren't hemmed in by party politics, the panellists do bring their own concerns. Shaw thinks our public transport is poor, especially the sluggish trams, and must be made more reliable. Ling is interested in high-rise developments – her dad is a property developer in Malaysia. In Melbourne, she thinks, there are too many new towers, too tall and too small inside.

Panellist Renee Hill recently moved to Kensington with her partner. She works in marketing in the finance industry, and her primary worry is about how the city is promoting sustainability and preparing for climate change. "If we don't start planning now, we won't be in a position to deal with it," she says. "That's really top of mind for me."

This represented one of the main struggles for the panel. The council's powers are constrained. Decision-making on critical issues such as public transport, planning for big buildings and systemic responses to climate change all rest elsewhere.

"We always have to remember that the purpose of the exercise is to improve the budget of the city," Akaoui says. "It's not theoretical, and it's not master planning; it's literally financial."

An annual budget of $400 million takes some reckoning. Can the hoi polloi analyse it? And can they do it on Saturdays?

Professor John Dryzek, from the University of Canberra, is a world expert on deliberative democracy. He says there's been an "explosion" of citizens' forums in the past decade, and experience has proven lay people worthy of the task.

"All you need to do is give people time," Dryzek says. "Give them access to information, enable them to ask questions of the experts and people really can get their head around incredibly complex issues."

The Danish Board of Technology has been running these juries for 20 years, seeking citizens' views on controversial issues such as genetically modified food and electronic surveillance. Recently, South Australian premier Jay Weatherill convened deliberative panels on questions of how to reduce alcohol-related violence and how motorists and cyclists can share roads.

Earlier this year, the Darebin City Council in Melbourne's north ran a citizen's jury to direct $2 million in spending on community infrastructure. The residents returned with eight recommendations, including a new neighbourhood house, exercise equipment and sports courts.

Each jury requires careful planning and hard decisions about demographics. In Melbourne, there are more than 116,000 residents and nearly 18,000 businesses, but two-thirds of rates revenue comes from the latter.

The facilitators, newDemocracy Foundation, recommended that the People's Panel should comprise an even split of residents and non-residents (both business owners and workers). As a consequence, 60 per cent of the panellists are male – a proportion said to reflect the over-representation of men in CBD businesses.

Jury deliberates

On the fifth Saturday, the citizens deliberate. But they don't finish, so they have to return for an unscheduled sixth day. To pass a recommendation, the panel requires 80 per cent agreement. Each person is given an electronic voting paddle and five options from "Love it" to "Loathe it". The results flash on the projector screen immediately.

This process – the jury's deliberation – is the system's promise, its claim to legitimacy. For outsiders, however, its merits are impossible to judge. The panellists had resolved that in order for everyone to feel comfortable venturing their opinions, they would close some sessions to observers. And so, whenever they were debating or voting, they excluded their fellow citizens.

Shaw maintains that when the room was closed, no one dominated. "The word 'democracy' describes it well," he says. "Whether or not the council will regret it is another thing."

Ling observes that some people who came with strong opinions softened them, or compromised significantly. The facilitators instructed voters to apply the following test before spiking a proposal: "Can you live with it?"

For the most part, agreement came easily. "There's been a lot more consensus than I expected," Hill says.

On the final day, as the clock ticks, the pressure rises. "The people who were pushing wacky ideas saw that the game was up," Shaw says. "We finished up with a good report, with a realistic number of ideas presented fairly."

Their 11 recommendations, released in mid-November, included proposing rate rises each year of up to 2.5 per cent above inflation, more spending on mitigating and adapting to climate change, extra bike paths, selling "non-core" properties, reducing new capital works and pressing the state government for a higher tax on developers.

Councillors approve

There's a pitfall common to many of the citizens' juries, however: their recommendations are often ignored. The council promises the People's Panel a formal response at its meeting on November 25. At the meeting, Mayne is effusive as he presents the official reply: "I think they're excellent recommendations," he says.

The councillors postpone their decision, however, and instead, refer the proposals to staff for analysis and modelling. When the council's draft 10-year financial plan is released in April, the panel's report will be included in its entirety, along with an explanation about whether or not each recommendation has been adopted.

Akaoui was in the gallery that day – he'd returned early, especially, from a business trip to Sydney. He is pleased with the outcome. On the question of rates, he believes increases are reasonable. "The overall mood of the panel was that the council is doing a good job. We're happy with the city and we want to keep it at the forefront."

Among the panellists, the process engendered loyalty and pride – and, also, not a little chagrin that they weren't given more time. But they had an opportunity to participate, deeply and meaningfully, in civic debate.

"You really should know that people have been so passionate and committed to participating," Petricevic says, citing evidence: one man sent his views by text message from hospital, where his wife was in labour; another woman was undergoing chemotherapy, but continued to attend.

Petricevic feels like she has made a contribution to the city she loves. She's also gained trust in the council for its commitment to community engagement. "Other levels of government could take a leaf out of that book," she says.

Ling too, feels she's made a contribution to the community, and it has kindled her interest in the affairs of her adopted city.

Now this panel is over, Akaoui believes others should begin. "I think this shouldn't be done once in a blue moon," he says. "It should be done every year."